


Full of Broken Thoughts I Cannot Repair

by pencilguin



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, M/M, Music, with some comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21905080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pencilguin/pseuds/pencilguin
Summary: [spoilers for S2]Hugh can't find Paul in their quarters when he gets home, so he goes looking for him, and finds him in an unexpected situation.
Relationships: Hugh Culber/Paul Stamets
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63
Collections: USS Spaceboos ficlets and snippets





	Full of Broken Thoughts I Cannot Repair

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta read, sorry for any mistakes.

When Hugh doesn’t find Paul in their (now again) shared quarters upon coming home from his shift, he admittedly grows concerned, and more quickly than he expected. Paul’s still supposed to rest, he’s only just recovered from being impaled by starship debris. Where on Earth — well, Discovery — could he be?

_I swear, if he’s snuck out into engineering to work…_

He sighs.

“Computer, please locate Paul Stamets.”

_“Lieutenant Commander Paul Stamets is in recreation room D-32.”_

He takes a relieved breath or two.

“Did he specify to be left alone?”

_“Negative.”_

“Thank you.”

Hugh picks up his PADD and checks the location of rec room D-32. It’s in a remote corner of deck 10, one of the smaller ones. Hugh’s never been in there himself. He puts the PADD back down and leaves.

It only takes a moment after putting his hand on the door pad to ring the bell and identify himself until the door opens and lets him step in. The first thing Hugh notices is the soft strumming of a guitar. He looks around curiously. Despite the generally light, mostly white interior, the small room has an undeniable coziness to it. Paul’s sitting alone on the light gray couch, bent over an acoustic guitar and seeming deeply immersed in playing, with occasional quiet hums along with the vibration of the strings.

Hugh stands at the entrance, surprised. He knows that Paul has mentioned in passing before that he plays the guitar, but Hugh’s never actually heard him play. If it’s a specific song Paul is trying to find, Hugh doesn’t recognize it. Anxious about interrupting what appears to be a deeply meditative scene, he just stands and listens in silence, until Paul stops and looks up.

“Hugh. Come in.”

Slowly, Hugh walks over and gingerly sits down next to Paul on the couch.

“I was a little worried when I got home and you weren’t there,” he explains quietly. “I thought you’d run off to engineering.”

Paul smiles wisely. “Not yet, dear doctor. I’ll try to make good on my promise and not put my work before everything else anymore. And follow your medical advice a little more often,” he adds. Then he starts playing again, humming in tune.

“And what brings you here?” Hugh asks softly.

“This room’s soundproof,” Paul explains. His voice is surprisingly calm, almost serene, as he continues. “I’ve started coming here often, since…” Something stings underneath Hugh’s ribcage at the reminder. _Since you died._ “Music helped me, sometimes. It’s a good outlet for… all sorts of feelings.”

Hugh nods in agreement. He may not be as musically inclined — or gifted, apparently — as Paul, but even he has found this to be true.

“And I’ve grown fond of your beloved Kasseelian opera, but I’ve also been listening to some other music. Lots of old stuff. They’re easier for me to play with this.” His lips curl into a faint smile.

“I’ve never heard you play the guitar,” Hugh comments.

“I can play for you now, if you want.”

“I’d love that.” They smile at each other briefly, and Hugh pulls his legs up onto the couch and makes himself comfortable to watch Paul.

He plays around with the guitar for a bit, and then begins to speak. “This one has become my favorite, I think. It… strongly resonated with me.” He closes his eyes and starts playing the song.

The chords start out quiet, almost soft. For a while, Paul just keeps playing the same few notes over and over, finding his rhythm, and Hugh listens to the tune growing more confident, more defined. After a while, Paul’s eyes close and he starts to sing.

“ _I hurt myself today_

_To see if I still feel_

_I focus on the pain_

_The only thing that’s real…_ ”

It’s like a jolt right into Hugh’s brain. He’s not familiar with the song, but the lyrics, the raw, open emotion in Paul’s voice — the sheer _pain_ of it — hit him deeply. It’s so quiet, but at the same time, it’s everything.

“ _What have I become_

_My sweetest friend_

_Everyone I know goes away_

_In the end…_ ”

Hugh’s heart clenches in his chest as he imagines Paul alone after his death, lying on the bed in the dark, staring at the ceiling, listening to this sad song. Paul alone in this room, desperate for an outlet for his grief. As his voice rises, so do the goosebumps on Hugh’s skin.

“ _Beneath the stains of time_

_The feelings disappear_

_You are someone else_

_I am still right here…_ ”

Not only dying, Hugh remembers painfully. Coming back from death, only to reject Paul. He cringes at the memory of himself asking Paul to move on, even if it was all he could do at the time.

“ _And you could have it all_

_My empire of dirt_

_I will let you down_

_I will make you hurt…_ ”

As the music swells, so does the overflowing emotion in Paul’s voice, so thick that Hugh doesn’t know how he can bear it.

“ _If I could start again_

_A million miles away_

_I would keep myself_

_I would find a way…_ ”

In the end, he goes quiet again. The last chords ring out and what’s left, for a while, is echoing silence. Paul is surprisingly still, despite the deep, slow breaths he’s taking, measuring them this whole time to prevent disrupting his performance with labored exhalation. Hugh smiles at it involuntarily. _Ever the perfectionist._

“That… _wow_ ,” he breathes at last. How can he even begin to adequately put in words what he is feeling?

Only now does Paul allow himself to start shaking, and quickly, Hugh’s hands are there, holding his, providing comfort.

“Paul?” he whispers.

“It… It’s a lot. It’s always a lot.” Paul doesn’t look up. His eyes still seem to be closed.

“I know, honey,” Hugh mutters, and he reaches out and pulls Paul close to him. “And I’m so sorry for causing you all this grief and pain.”

Paul shakes his head. There are tears trickling down his cheeks, Hugh notices, and only now does he realize that they mirror his own. “It’s not your fault.”

They remain like this for some time, in companionable silence. Hugh’s hand gently strokes Paul’s hair. Paul’s thumb is rubbing circles against the back of Hugh’s hand.

“It’s very sad,” Hugh remarks quietly after a while. “But it’s also beautiful. And… You’re really good. I would love to listen to you more often.”

Paul turns his head to look up at him. “You think so?”

Hugh smiles at him. “Of course.”

Eventually, Paul returns the smile. “Maybe we can discover some happier music together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a few weeks ago, inspired, of course, by this song: [Johnny Cash - Hurt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ahHWROn8M0)


End file.
